This Shouldn't Be Legal
by PitFTW
Summary: One thing about being a divorce lawyer is being open to the different types of people you would see in your office. For lawyer Alfred F. Jones, it was one thing to see a punk, but another thing entirely to see a punk claiming to have the most pretentious old-person name in the world.


This Shouldn't be Legal

**A/N: Written for the usxuk live journal community Secret Santa Exchange. This one is for you, qichi! I hope you enjoy! ****For those of you wondering, Arthur's store is… I guess the closest real-life example would be Hot Topic.**

**Summary: One thing about being a divorce lawyer is being open to the different types of people you would see in your office. For lawyer Alfred F. Jones, it was one thing to see a punk, but another thing entirely to see a punk claiming to have the most pretentious old-person name in the world.**

**Warnings: Some light cursing, implied sex**

**Disclaimer: PitFTW claims no ownership of Hetalia or the prompt. All belong to their proper owners.**

**Prompt: Punk!Arthur; punk by day, dorky dweeb of a dad by other days.**

* * *

The first thing Alfred F. Jones, divorce attorney, thought when he walked into his office that day was that there had to be a mistake.

Sitting in the waiting room chair, flipping through a magazine (with half-naked chicks on the cover, something that Alfred had long ago purged from his office), was a man. Now, there was nothing wrong with a man sitting in a chair in Alfred's office; after all, with how many people were getting divorced these days, it would have been a surprise to find someone _not_ sitting in the waiting room of Alfred's small-town attorney's office. In fact, even the magazine with the half-naked chicks wasn't all too out there either; Alfred was a grown man, but he had been a boy once in his life. He knew when it was time for the hormones to come out and start biting off heads or whatever the term was these days. It was just the sheer fact that the client he was expecting, the man who had called him at least seven times just to confirm the time of the appointment the night before, _could not_ be the man flipping through the magazine of half-naked women.

Alfred F. Jones was expecting Arthur Kirkland, a native of Wakefield, England, who had very recently filed for divorce. He had been happily married to a woman five years his junior, and even managed to have a son with her a couple months before Kirkland's fairytale marriage blew up in a million pieces. Alfred was yet to learn the reason for wanting this separation, since he usually preferred hearing the reason form the clients themselves, but he suspected it had something to do with infidelity, as a rather unfortunate number of relationships ended in such a way. The main reason for Arthur's presence in Alfred's office was not a matter of assets; according to what Alfred already knew, he and his soon-to-be-ex-wife had settled such things outside of court. The reason that he was here was, in fact, four-month-old Peter Kirkland.

So when Alfred walked into his office today, he had expected an older fellow, perhaps one who wore sweater vests and drank tea and always had his shoes shined to the very brightest they could be. Alfred had assumed that he would likely have a file and a stopwatch by the time the American lawyer reached his office, perhaps reading a nice, long, boring novel about cheeriors and wankers and Harry Potter, whatever they read about in England. Above all, he had assumed that he would walk in on a nice British gentleman, complete with a mustache and a monocle and perhaps even a top hat. (Alright, yes, he was stereotyping, but he couldn't help it; he had seen way too many movies).

What he didn't expect was a blonde man of about twenty-five, with bright green tips, piercings on every bit of skin that _could _be pierced, and eyes the color of freshly mown grass. All traces of a monocle and top hat were nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with visions of gleaming nose studs, flashing earrings, and a silver ring circling a (nicely formed) pink bottom lip. He was dressed in skin-tight black jeans and a faded Union Jack shirt, covered with a worn leather jacket. On his feet were a pair of black boots that looked like they were more suited to riding a horse than to just wearing around a house (or divorce attorney's office) casually. All in all, this guy looked like he had gone to some punk rock concert, got high, then wandered into Alfred's office the next morning thinking it was a bar or something like that.

That was the thought running through Alfred's head when the punk looked up from his magazine and gave him a once-over. Alfred suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if he remembered to tuck in his shirt or comb his hair that morning. He had to admit, with the guy's nose out of the magazine, he had a better look of him… and this guy was freaking attractive. He wasn't sure if it was the flawless pale skin, the slim form, or the wild yet reserved curvature of his smile (smirk?) that got to him first, but one thing was clear: those were the greenest, the deepest, the brightest eyes Alfred had ever seen. They held the wild abandon of youth, and the gentle wisdom of fatherhood all at once. One look into those eyes and Alfred's palms became sweaty, his cheeks reddened, and his heart beat just a mite faster. Why did anyone have to look that good? It was unfair.

The man put down his magazine and turned towards Alfred, uncrossing his slim legs as he turned (and oh god, what legs they were!). He tilted his head a little to the left, the smilirk (haha! Alfred totally made up a new word!) still gracing his features. When he opened his mouth, Alfred caught a fleeting glimpse of two diamonds pierced right in the middle of his tongue. "Alfred F. Jones, I presume?"

If his looks could kill, then his voice was the cause of the apocalypse. It was a sweet, sensual sound with just the lightest burr of an accent underlying his words. If it were not for the fact that Alfred had long ago trained himself in the art of professionalism, the punk in front of him would have spent less time sitting in the waiting room and more time half-bent over Alfred's desk. Ah, but naturally, Alfred had to remind himself that no, people didn't like it when their lawyers suddenly asked them if they wanted to be bent over the nearest desk and that the guy was most likely straight anyways.

"That's me!" Alfred said, flashing his Hollywood smile. He held out his hand and the punk took it, giving it a nice firm shake. Alfred briefly noted how soft the other man's hand was before they both pulled away. They stood there for a few long moments in silence, awkwardly staring at each other. Then, with the grace that all heroes had, Alfred chose to break it. "So, uh… I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to wait for a bit before I can talk to you. See, I have this appointment right now and I have no idea where this Kirkland guy is, and yeah..."

"I am this 'Kirkland guy'," the blonde said, raising a rather large eyebrow. Alfred felt his jaw drop in response to the sheer size of the things. How had he not noticed before? They looked like caterpillars were about to eat his face! Of course, that wasn't to say that they detracted from his appearance in any way. Hell, if anything, they added to it. "I'm here to inquire about the custody of my son, Peter."

Alfred blinked. For a few good, long moments, his brain shut down and he simply stood there like some slack-jawed idiot. _This_ was Arthur Kirkland? _This _was the British guy who was about to get a divorce and who had called Alfred a million or so times the night before to confirm this very appointment? _This _was Arthur-totally-gonna-have-a-monacle Kirkland!?

Luckily, he recovered before he could make himself look much more like an idiot. "O-Oh! Sorry, my mistake. It's nice to meet you, Mister Kirkland. I'm… well… haha…" he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before extending his hand. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, but I guess you know that already considering… look, I'm really sorry, I didn't know that-"

"It's fine, lad," Arthur said lightly, shaking his head. Alfred, realizing that they had already shaken hands earlier, retracted the offending appendage immediately and simply shuffled awkwardly, wishing he could just duck under his desk and hide for the rest of forever. "I understand. Not quite what you expected, eh?"

The truthful answer was "No, I seriously thought you were some kinda drunk teenager who thought this was another bar or something", but really, what kind of self-respecting professional would say that? That was why Alfred only flashed his Hollywood smile and shook his head. It was better that he attempt recovering from such a blunder before he made any more.

"Y-You? Naw. I just… I just forgot to drink my coffee this morning, that's all," he laughed uneasily. This was getting nowhere. Here he was, with a client and a time limit, just wasting time pretending that he didn't have his daily double shot expresso. Clearing his throat, Alfred did his best to straighten his already too straight tie and grinned. "Why don't you come with me into my office, Mister Kirkland, and we can begin our discussion?"

"Please, call me Arthur," the man said lightly. He stood up from his chair and tilted his head rather regally. "I'd like to apologise that my former wife cannot be here. That bloody hoe is probably shagging her latest one-night-stand in a-"

"U-Uh, right," Alfred said uncomfortably, blinking a little as he opened the door to his office. As much as he _loved_ to hear clients calling their ex-wives hoes and all that, he had a job to do and very dirty thoughts to subdue. "Why don't we get started?"

* * *

At the end of the day, Alfred locked his office and took off for the nearby supermarket, briefcase tucked under one arm. Although his meeting with Arthur was only supposed to take an hour or so, the man ended up staying there with Alfred for almost four hours, the two simply talking about anything. Alfred had learned so many things about Arthur and told so many things about himself that by the time Arthur left to pick up his son from the babysitter's, Alfred had begun feeling as if he had known Arthur for at least a couple of years.

Arthur was the owner of a local shop that played loud punk rock, sold a bunch of vintage records, had a special section roped off for the adults only, and randomly threw in cosplay pieces now and then. It was one of those stores that only a very specific crowd was supposed to shop at, but it ended up having visitors from all kinds of cliques and such, from the Doctor Who fanatics to the freaky bondage junkies. He also enjoyed going to loud concerts on weekends and had twelve piercings: one on his left nostril, two on his tongue, one on his upper lip, three along the curve of each ear, and one stud on each earlobe. According to him, each piercing represented a life-changing occasion; one of the diamonds on his tongue represented the marriage, and the other represented the divorce. It was all so fascinating that by the time Arthur had been about to start on his tattoos, he had checked the time and was forced to tell Alfred that he had to leave.

Alfred, for his part, had said a lot about himself as well, more than he had ever told any other person, client or otherwise. He had been born in Richmond not too long ago, to a stable home with a loving mom and pop. Though the two hoped that he would grow up and one day inherit their general store, Alfred had wished for much more and studied to become a lawyer. Ownership of the store passed to his younger brother, Matthew, once his parents retired. Alfred enjoyed going to amusement parks, reading science fiction novels, and building model airplanes. He had two cats, Milkshakes and Kettle, who he loved to pieces. He had been curious about getting piercings and tattoos and all of that in his youth, but was too afraid to do so, in case they ruined his chances for law school. (Arthur had scoffed at the idea and mumbled something about "American pussies and their professionalism").

Still, most of the time Arthur was talking, Alfred had been doing more than simply listening to him. His stories were fascinating, of course, and when he went on that very, very, _very_ long rant about how ungrateful and horrible his ex-wife was, Alfred truly marveled at it. The way that each and every curse word fell from his mouth, the way that every ounce of bitterness in his tone seemed to roll across his tongue… it was a wonder how such a man could have such a background (grew up among the upper class, was sent to a prestigious boarding school at age three, attended the University of Cambridge…) and come out this way. It utterly fascinated Alfred and it wasn't too long before Alfred found himself realizing that he spent much more time simply staring at Kirkland's bright green eyes than normal standards would allow. Seriously, he was probably going crazy at this point!

So that was why when Alfred walked down the tea and coffee aisle, the first thing he had to do was hold back a scream. Because seriously, this was the point in the craziness where he would start seeing the object of his affections everywhere. But, after blinking eight times, pinching himself twice, and making sure that he could still legibly read the labels on the numerous boxes of coffee and tea in front of him, Alfred had to admit to himself that no, he was not crazy and no, he was not dreaming. Because right there in front of him stood Arthur Kirkland, green tips and all, browsing the numerous boxes of tea.

Said man looked up after a small while, his face not betraying any sort of emotion other than pleasant surprise. "Alfred F. Jones? Is that you?"

Alfred gulped as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Damn it, was this going to become a habit with him? Here he was, trying to have a casual conversation with a (beautiful, gorgeous, attractive, drop dead sexy) client, and he couldn't think of a thing to say. Him! Alfred F. Jones! The biggest mouth in town!

"Y-Yeah! Haha, it's me! Small world, eh Artie?"

"Indeed," Arthur replied, scowling a little at the name. He turned back to the numerous teas in front of him, frown not fading from his face. "I don't suppose I may ask what you are doing here?"

Alfred took a deep breath, willing his nerves to calm down. It was just Arthur, after all. Just Arthur...

"Getting coffee. My place is always stocked with it and I'm running a bit low," he frowned at the many brands in front of him, realizing that the brand he usually bought was completely sold out. Normally, he would simply go ask an employee if they had anymore in stock, but something told him that he would certainly regret leaving Kirkland now. "But I guess they're fresh out of my usual brand."

"Ah…" Arthur said with a nod. Then he rolled his eyes, a smirk forming on his features. "I'm surprised, honestly. How could anything as disgusting as coffee be sold out anywhere? I don't see why you all bloody drink it, it destroys brain cells and is terrible for your health, especially with all of those disgusting… fertilizers or whatever you all choose to stick in it. Tea is much better, in my opinion."

"Hey! Whoa! Don't diss the God Drink!" Alfred said, blue eyes narrowing a bit as he turned to fully face the Briton. "And by the way, I totally drink it black, dude. There ain't nothing like the all-natural flavor of awesome!"

"Yes, the all-natural flavor of ridiculous hyperactivity and ulcers," Arthur quipped, picking a box of Earl Grey off the shelf. "Why don't you try drinking tea for once? Not only is it soothing, but it will also not cause ulcers, is not made with some sort of disgusting chemicals that could cause organ damage if consumed in high amounts, and wakes you up even better than a cup of coffee."

"You, sir, sound like a man that has never had a good cup of joe in his life," Alfred countered. He reached up and picked up another brand off the shelf, one that wasn't quite as good as his usual brand, but was decent enough to get the American through the day without turning into an incredibly good looking hamburger eating zombie. "I guarantee that once you try this, you'll never go back to any sorta tea ever again!"

"You know, I might just have to take you up on that offer, Jones," the Briton said, rolling his eyes. Then his smirked and held out the Earl Grey box. "That is, if you attempt too drink some of this tea. You seem like the sort who has never had a good cup of a tea in his lifetime."

Alfred eyed the box suspiciously before taking it, exchanging it with the instant coffee he had been holding. Frowning down at the box, he examined it for a few moments before deciding that he might as well try, and shrugging. "You got yourself a deal, Kirkland. But lemme just say it now, once I prove once and for all that coffee is better than tea, you're going to have to pay up."

"I wasn't fully aware that there was a wager attached to this," Arthur answered, raising an eyebrow. Nonetheless, he began walking out of the aisle. "But, I suppose it would make things interesting. What, then, will you ask of me if you win?"

"One date," Alfred said, before he could stop himself. He felt the tips of his ears burn as Arthur raised an eyebrow, but didn't object. He plowed on, fully aware that it was already too late to take back this particular term of the bet. "To wherever I want."

For a moment, green eyes blinked a few times, obviously considering the bet. Then, they flashed haughtily as a smile slowly spread across those finely formed pink lips, the silver lip ring seeming to take on a new shine of its own. "Then, as they say here in America, you're on, Mister Jones. Be assured, though, that once _I _prove that tea is a million times or so better than coffee, that I will not be taking you out to any sort of fancy restaurant or wherever the hell you snobby rich boys enjoy spending your time. No, in fact, I do believe that I will make extra sure to take you somewhere you will never quite forget." he turned to leave, then paused and dug around in his pocket. After a few seconds, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and pressed it into Alfred's hand. "For the tea." with that, he was gone.

It was a coupon for 30% off any of three particular brands of tea.

* * *

Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked at his watch, then his phone, then the clock at the other end of the hall. After making sure that all three were either showing the same time or horribly off, he sighed and resigned himself to sipping the quickly cooling mug of Earl Grey. Once he was done with his sipping, the young lawyer pulled the small slip of paper out of breast coat pocket _yet again_, and checked the address. 19281 Brawns Street, Apartment 703. Yes, he was certainly in the right place.

Alfred had never showed up early for anything in his life; he had always been either right on time or late. The late part usually came with classes and past dates, but for this one, Alfred found that he simply could not sit at home and wait. So here he was, almost half an hour early for the big night, sipping from this _goddamned_ thermos of tea, and checking his phone every so often as if some higher power up there could magically control clocks to make them tick faster.

Finally, after what seemed like hours upon hours of waiting, the hands on his watch read 7:30 PM. Leaping to his feet, the lawyer walked over to the door and rapped sharply, shaking all the while. He was shaking in his shoes and sweating, realizing for the first time that yes, this was a bonafide date, and yes, this was a bonafide date with Arthur Kirkland, who had just gotten a divorce and who had won the tea vs coffee bet the two had made only two weeks ago. Since then, Arthur had visited his office numerous times to not only go over the paperwork, but to also check up on Alfred's tea process. Eventually, the American gave in to those poisonous green eyes and admitted right there in his office that no, he had not had a cup of coffee for a long while, all because he was too busy drinking that goddamn tea.

Alfred found himself fidgeting again when no one immediately answered the door. Then, just as he was about to raise his fist to knock again, he heard a shuffle from the room beyond. Then there was a crash, some light cursing, before the doorknob rattled and the door itself swung open. There on the other side stood Arthur, dressed in an ensemble that would have caused most mothers to cover their children's eyes. He wore a ripped black tank-top, with chains practically dripping from it, dark leather pants that left little to the imagination, and had changed his piercings to more… aggressive looking ones. On his upper right arm, standing out sharply against the milky white skin, was a tattoo of a rose stem, with its thorns entwining his arm and spiraling upwards to his shoulder blade, where Alfred had no doubt that a beautiful red rose, as lovely as the man himself, bloomed on his back.

All in all, Arthur looked dropped dead amazing, and Alfred felt completely overwhelmed. There was nothing he could do but stare, his blue eyes roaming every inch and curve where the fabric hugged Arthur's slim body. He paid very special attention to Arthur's legs; the way those pants seemed so very painted on revealed just how _amazing_ Arthur's legs were, supple but strong. The lawyer could honestly spend all night simply standing there and admiring those beautiful legs. It wasn't long, however, until Alfred was forcibly ejected from his fantasies involving what he would do with Arthur's legs when the Englishman cleared his throat.

"Are we going to have a date night, love, or will you continue undressing me with your eyes?" he asked, a smirk crossing his features. "Because, I am quite content either way. Of course, I'll have to ask you to wait here just a bit longer, because dinner is yet to be finished and I simply need to but on the finishing tou-"

Before Arthur could continue, a small cry was heard in the next room. Arthur briefly shot Alfred a look of apology before walking into the other room. Alfred had heard of home dates before, but never had he ever heard of home dates being randomly interrupted by random crying babies. Then again, he had never heard of first dates being home dates before either. So, with enough curiosity to kill several cats and maybe even some puppies, Alfred leaned over a little and peaked into the kitchen, merely to see what was happening and if a hero like himself could help.

Arthur stood at the small wooden table, wearing something that Alfred thought he would never see on a man as hardened as him: a frilly pink apron. He didn't look up as Alfred came in, choosing instead to fuss over a small blue blob seated in a kiddie chair. Arthur whispered a few things to said blob, which wriggled and fussed and cooed, despite Arthur's obviously gentle touch. When the blob turned around and revealed a mop of blonde hair, large eyebrows, and eyes the color of a summer sky, Alfred was immediately struck with how very much like Arthur the boy looked. This had to be Peter, the boy that Arthur was fighting tooth and nail for.

To say that Peter had inherited his father's looks would be an understatement. In fact, the only thing he seemed to have not inherited from Arthur was his eyes, which reminded Alfred a lot of his own. Otherwise, he had the same face shape (though it was currently chock full of baby fat), the same pouting mouth, and even the same eyebrows. For a few moments, Alfred stood there, amazed at the resemblance. How could one boy inherit so much?

"You really ought to behave, Peter, especially when we have a guest over," Arthur said sternly as he picked up a small bowl (painted mint green and equipped with plastic bunny ears and wings, Alfred noted) and bustled about the kitchen, mumbling to himself about having to clip more coupons so he could buy more of those treats Peter loved so much. Blue eyes blinked in surprise at the display of affection, especially when Arthur set down the bowl and carefully ran his fingers through Peter's golden locks.

This Arthur was… softer, quieter than the one Alfred knew. The other one was rough, a bit bitter, and definitely one of the hottest people in the city. This one could have been another man entirely, and if it were not for the green tips and the piercings that suited Arthur so well, this man could have been an entirely different person.

The curve of his mouth was not jerked upward into a rebellious smirk, but instead sloped upwards in a gentle smile. The movements of his hands, his arms, his wrists were much more subdued in this man, gentler and quieter. He truly did look like a father then, with his lightly flushed cheeks and soft green eyes. For a moment, all of his piercings, his green tips, and his tattoos disappeared, leaving Alfred the vision of a man who enjoyed reading Shakespeare and knitting on the weekends, and who lived for the family he desperately wanted but, as of right now, could not have. And he was beautiful, in every way possible.

Suddenly, Arthur turned around. Green met blue as Alfred awkwardly cleared his throat and shuffled into the kitchen. The stove, he noticed, was piled high with numerous pots and pans, and while he didn't like the look of the stuff beginning to boil over in the large stewpot on the stove, Alfred could at the very least see and appreciate the effort Arthur had taken with making it. What was more, just the sight of Arthur standing there, in a pink frilly apron, blushing to the very tips of his ears, just seemed so… right. Like perhaps Alfred truly did belong standing here in the kitchen, with the stove going nuts and the oven smelling funky and the strongest man in all the world smiling down at a little boy in a kiddie chair.

"Dinner smells delicious," Alfred said, his voice shaking marginally as he entered. He cast on glance over to the stove before turning to Arthur, his grin widening when his eyes landed on Peter. "That's Peter, right?"

Arthur nodded, turning his attention to said child. Peter happily gurgled and continued to eat his food, unaware of the two adults watching him. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw Arthur swallow a little, as if holding something back. "Yes. This is my son."

"He's handsome," the lawyer said. They stood there in an awkward silence for a few moments more, interrupted only by Peter's occasional munch or gurgle. After a good long while of staring and blushing, it was Arthur that finally broke the silence, bustling over to the stove and turning it off. He opened up a cabinet and took out two bowls, beginning to spoon some kind of strange sludge into them.

"I made some beef stew, though I do apologize… it would seem that I have either undercooked or overcooked the meat, I'm not too sure. And then there's the issue with my bloody stove, and-"

"It looks amazing, Arthur," Alfred said, laughing. He picked up the two bowls and carried them to the meticulously set table. Arthur flushed even more and walked over, carrying a plate of what looked like a pile of rots. But, after examining them for a bit, Alfred noted that they were probably scones, if the box of scone batter on the counter said anything about them.

The whole meal was topped off with a pot of tea, which Arthur had brought out in what he described to be his "best silver tea tray". Alfred found himself unable to stop grinning, whether it was from the surprisingly decent home cooked meal or form the fact that Arthur had bothered to dig out said "best silver tea tray" just for him. In fact, the only thing missing from this beautiful meal was a good dessert, which Arthur had fixed immediately when he brought out a small chocolate cake that "a frog" had given to him "in celebration of finally ridding myself of that horrid woman."

"At least you seem to have good friends," Alfred laughed as he finished off his third slice of cake. Dating etiquette be damned, this cake was fucking amazing! And it helped that Arthur was on his second slice, though he did not seem happy about it. Whoever this "a frog" was, he seemed to hold both a special place and a burning hellish pit in Arthur's heart. "There ain't nothing that can cheer a man up better than a good slice of cake!"

Arthur laughed, a sweet, bell-like sound. "I suppose not. There are many things about the frog that I will never in my lifetime admit, but yes, he does indeed know how to bake a cake. If you ever happen to stop by "L'Amour Cakes and Sweets", please don't ever tell him that. Francis will never allow me to live it down."

"You and that Francis the Frog guy sound like you go way back," Alfred mused, with just the smallest hint of jealousy. Who could blame him? Here he was, on a date, drinking from a freaking fancy silver teacup, and eating a cake made by some other guy that Arthur knew who just happened to run some kind of bakery with a French word in the name that Alfred was pretty sure had something to do with love.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "We've known each other since high school. His mother was close friends with my mother, and as a result, we often found ourselves at each other's houses when we needed to study or something of that nature. Our relationship is one that consists of a lot of cursing and fighting with the occasional drink. Oh, and if you are wondering…" the old rebellious spark had once again appeared in Arthur's eye. "We are not and have never been together. He married a woman named Jeanne not long after he graduated from college. She currently owns a fitness center and is a truly lovely woman."

"I was so not jealous," Alfred said, snorting. He took a sip of the tea in front of him and admitted, once again, that it tasted quite good. Hell, it was even better than the box Arthur had given him. "I was just wondering, that's all."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Alfred," Arthur said lightly, sipping his tea. Alfred found himself drawn to a white line on Arthur's ring finger, obviously where a wedding band was once placed. He felt his envy spike again, but this time managed to hide it behind a smile and a sip. He shouldn't think about it, he shouldn't think about it...

"Is there something wrong…?" the sweet, lilting voice was filled with concern. Alfred jerked up a little, realizing that he had been glaring at the table. The lawyer open his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a soft, wet sound. Well, that is, it sounded soft and wet, but really, it was more of a rumbling than anything. Looking to the side, Alfred saw that Peter had fallen asleep with his head on his tray, a light bit of drool trailing from his lips.

"Looks like the little guy's done for the night," Alfred chuckled, getting up from the table. Across from him, Arthur made the same movement. However, much to both of their surprises, it was not Arthur but Alfred that walked over to Peter's chair and picked the boy up out of it, allowing the little mess of blonde hair to spread out over the shoulder of his WWII era bomber jacket. After affectionately stroking the soft net of gold, Alfred turned to a still surprised Arthur and laughed softly. "Where to, Artie?"

The Englishman blinked once before managing to recover himself and clearing his throat. "R-Right. Follow me. I set aside a room and… oh, just follow me."

Alfred was led into a room off to the side of what he assumed was the living room, with a squishy couch and a small TV set. When the door to this room opened, he was greeted with a dark green floor and soft, baby blue walls. Here and there, paintings of butterflies and fairies stood out to him, smiling at the man and seeming to beckon him into their home. He saw a small crib and changing table off to one side, with piles upon piles of toys at the other. Without needing any direction, Alfred walked over and gently placed Peter down in the crib, tucking the infant in for the night. A small, affectionate smile appeared on his face when he saw Peter roll over to a stuffed mint colored bunny and curled around it, one wing in his mouth. At a gesture from Arthur, Alfred walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

"He's freaking adorable, Artie," Alfred breathed as soon as they were outside the door, grinning down at the Briton. "You're so lucky."

"I am," Arthur agreed, nodding with a small smile lighting up his features. "That boy is the world to me. I would fight with everything I have if it means that I can spend the rest of my life watching him grow older…" he trailed off, blushing furiously.

Once again, the two lapsed into silence, wondering what to do next. With dinner and dessert done, and the hour growing later, there were very few things they could do. And with Peter asleep, one of them was not playing with the boy and making him laugh that adorable, gurgling sound that had rung all throughout dinner. Slim fingers fidgeted uneasily, two pairs of eyes stared at the ground, then at each other, and for five minutes more, the heavy silence hung between them.

Neither of them could say who moved first. Perhaps it was Alfred, finally giving in to everything he had been trying his best not to think about all night. Or perhaps it was Arthur, who had been waiting to make the first move all night. But regardless of who it was that initiated things, there was no denying that the moments their lips crashed together, their tongues mingled, and their fingers interlocked with threads of golden hair, there was nothing short of an explosion of fireworks, a spark of life, and an outpouring of hidden frustration, lust, happiness, and love flooding the room.

Warmth spread all over Alfred, his body felt like it was on fire. Those beautiful, perfect, pink lips molded easily with his, fluids in their movements and harsh with their pressure. This was life, this was energy, this was love. This was everything that Alfred had been dreaming of and more, all locked within the beautiful, amazing, perfect specimen of a man who could transform from untamed punk to doting father in the blink of an eye. It wasn't long before Alfred's hands began roaming, as did his lips, and he was pressing hot, bruising kisses to Arthur's neck, trailing across his collarbone. Music filled his ears as Arthur's voice responded to his ministrations, and it was not long until he had the apron off and was working on Arthur's tight leather shirt. Arthur, for his part, acted as the guide; he slowly but surely backed into his own bedroom, slim hand easily slipping off Alfred's bomber jacket and working on his tie.

The rest of the night was a searing, intoxicating haze of crushing kisses, fluttering touches, and sweet music echoing throughout the apartment.

* * *

"Alfred! Alfreeeeeeeeed!" the little boy of five years shouted, running up to the man as he walked out the door. "Alfred! Take me with you! Please, Al!"

Alfred F. Jones, divorce attorney and the "fun dad" grinned and knelt down to ruffle the boy's hair. "Sorry, little dude, but I can't do that. I have too many meetings today, and I don't think your dad's gonna be happy if I let you read through those magazines again…"

"They were inappropriate and you know it," Arthur scoffed as he entered the foyer, his arms crossed across the frilly pink apron Alfred had bought him as a random gag gift. Despite the Briton's many sputterings and complaints about how horribly girly the thing was, he had pressed a great many kisses to Alfred's face and neck, silently thanking him for the gift. "Honestly Alfred, I can understand a tattoo artist having a set of those, but a lawyer? That is hardly respectable."

Alfred stuck his tongue out at the shorter male before turning his attention back to the boy in front of him. "I'll tell you what, I'll take both you and your pop out to get ice cream later once I get back home from work. I'll even let ya have a triple scoop! How does that sound?"

Blue eyes blinked a little before a wide grin crossed the pale features. "YES! Thanks a lot, Alfred!" he ran off to go watch TV, but soon came back, shuffling his feet a bit. "I-I mean… thanks… Pop…" he kissed Alfred on the cheek, then scampered off, his face colored bright red. Arthur chuckled at his son's retreating back, turning to face Alfred as the latter straightened back up.

"You will be home quite early tonight, won't you?" Arthur asked quietly, stepping a little closer and trailing his hand over Alfred's chest and stomach. The slim hand paused a moment to play with a tiny nub in the shirt, right where the American's naval was. After all of these years, he could never forget it: it was an emerald green stud, a twin to Arthur's sapphire blue one. They had both gotten them on the same day.

Alfred picked up Arthur's hand and pressed a kiss to the gold band on the ring finger. Then he pulled Arthur closer and kissed him on the lips. The kiss only lasted half a second, however, as dallying any longer would definitely make Alfred late for his first appointment of the day. Still, nothing could hide the devilish smirk on the American's face as he walked out the door.

"You're way too sexy. It shouldn't be legal."


End file.
